


Positive Self-talk and the Limitations of the Creative Vision

by Koraki



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Background Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Background Mermista/Sea Hawk (She-Ra), F/F, Flowers, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Perfuma makes creative works inspired by her pining for Scorpia... and Scorpia notices, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koraki/pseuds/Koraki
Summary: Scorpia is cute. Perfuma is... struggling.
Relationships: Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75
Collections: pine4pine 2020





	Positive Self-talk and the Limitations of the Creative Vision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nowrunalong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowrunalong/gifts).



The sun is rising bright over the forest, the flowers are turning their faces up to the sky, and Perfuma, Princess of Plumeria, is realizing that she's a terrible friend. 

The realization has come creeping slowly in over the past month, moments of discord interrupting her morning meditations and throwing her sunset drum circles off rhythm. She struggled for a while at the beginning to open her heart to the truth. Everything is looking up for her and for Etheria! Her forests and gardens are thriving. The destroyed Plumerian villages have been rebuilt with the help of some of her newest Plumerians, a former Horde cohort who have proven to be vigorous workers and even more vigorous drum circle participants. After tending to their own kingdoms, the other princesses have joined to spread peace and harmony across Etheria in their own ways and together: Glimmer and Adora working with Mystacor to bring healing to the planet, Entrapta and her former Horde friends rebuilding towns across Etheria, Mermista spreading peace across the seas — and the last time they met, Frosta was pushing hard for a Princess Prom redo. Perfuma has done what she can to contribute, in her own small way. 

If only this cactus weren't so difficult! 

Last time she visited the Crimson Waste, Perfuma had plucked up the courage to ask Huntara about the possibility of inviting some of the native flora home with her. 

Huntara looked at her like she'd grown two heads. "Sure," she said. "Take whatever you want, I don't mind."

"It's more about the emotional stability of the plant in transition, if it knows you believe it'll have a good life in its new home," Perfuma tried to explain, but some people just aren't as sensitive to the psychological intricacies of the plant in transition. Huntara is one of them. That's something she's simply learned to accept. 

In the end she had to work it out with the cactus. 

Up until today her tentative exploration of the artistic potential of that cactus has borne even more plentiful fruit than expected. It's good for her, getting to know such a different plant, and she hopes the cactus has enjoyed it too. Learning to understand its prickles and quirks and strong, thorny attitude has been a challenge — but Perfuma knows now a lot of that was on her. She had to learn to accept the cactus first and open herself fully. The first few attempts had gone well, but today...

"Alright," Perfuma says, stepping back. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and reminds herself to practice deep breathing techniques. " _ Please _ . I know you're not a flowering vine or a deciduous tree, and I'm not asking you to be that, I appreciate you for who you are. I really do. But please… could you try to be a little more…" Plants are primarily non-verbal. She still wishes for a better word. "Lizard...y?" 

Part of the uniqueness of the cactus, in art, is its comparative lack of flexibility compared to Perfuma's usual flowers. She likes to think she's learning to embrace this special aspect, which is why she decided on the concept of a dragon for her first large-scale figurative sculpture with cactus. She spent hours in morning meditation perfecting the visualization. An artistic, beautiful compromise for her sharp, green, beautiful new friend! And yet, now they've reached this milestone in their partnership, the cactus insists on going bipedal. 

"I don't understand you," she tells the cactus. Plants tend to respond well to emotional honesty and openness no matter their genus. "We worked this out together. You've struggled with organic figures in the past, which is perfectly understandable, so we do spiky forms! Grounded forms! Geometric forms! Forms you're comfortable with! Not…" 

The half-formed cactus sculpture towers above her, casting a dark purpley-blue shadow over the wide sandy clearing she had prepared before its arrival. (Plumeria is ecologically so different from the Crimson Waste; she'd wanted it to feel at home here, while getting accustomed.) The form is much more sinuous than anything the cactus has agreed to contort itself into before, an assembly of strong organic curves forming the decidedly bipedal legs, the powerful thighs, the well-structured torso, the flexing claws — 

"I don't even know what that  _ is _ ," Perfuma says lightly with an internal twinge of anxiety. She notes that and lets it pass, for later. Whatever is in front of her, it's nothing like her visualization.

The cactus has stopped short of a head, resulting in a morbidly decapitated effect which Perfuma honestly isn't loving. Reaching between the thorns she lays a hand gently on one of the large smooth pads. Maybe it's insecure. It's seen what she does with her Plumerian flowers and feels a sense of inadequacy. Time for some positive affirmations! "Let's try again." Perfuma strokes the pad of the cactus gently with two fingers. "I believe in you. It's okay to stay in your comfort zone!" 

_ And you can't keep doing this, _ she tells herself, a heat that can't be from the early morning sun rising into her cheeks as she watches the cactus untwist and detangle itself, readying for another attempt. Something was just too familiar about that sculpture.  _ Whatever that was… you have to stop being so weird! The poor cactus deserves it! _

Taking a deep breath, Perfuma does her best to clear her thoughts and consciously build the image of the perfect, spiny, quadrupedal dragon, conceptualized with every characteristic of the cactus in mind. Rippling deltoids and anatomically flawless rhomboids flash across her subconscious mind's eye but she sternly banishes them with another little internal twinge. 

The cactus waits, spines trembling in anticipation. 

Perfuma dives in. 

She and the cactus weave together, the strength and resilience and determination of the desert plant merging into her creative vision with only a few sharp pricks of confusion this time. Unlike a flower or a vine, or even a Plumerian tree's roots, a cactus is all sturdiness, tough and ready on the outside but liquid green and soft within, rising above her as tall and dependable as — 

_ A dragon!  _ she thinks at the cactus, her eyes still closed as she feels the plant begin to reshape itself. It sends her a vague idea of legs. They don't feel very reptilian.  _ No, no, no! Come on, cactus!  _

"Wow! That is just — that is so amazing, who is that?" 

Perfuma's eyes fly open. 

The sculpture is no more quadrupedal than before. The cactus has veered in the same atypically organic direction with the same figure it did before. Instead of flexing, this time the figure relaxes in a reclining pose, long muscular legs folded over one another, claw-tipped arms resting beneath the half-formed head. 

Burning with embarrassment and a sense of failure she isn't used to, Perfuma turns to see Princess Scorpia on the edge of the clearing. 

"Oh gosh, oh no, I'm sorry…" Scorpia's face falls in clear response to the way Perfuma is looking at her. Even her hair seems to droop down over her face. "I interrupted you. I am so sorry." 

"No, you didn't." Perfuma pulls her face into a smile. "I was having trouble with it anyway. Good timing. Hi!"

As Scorpia looks up and down the cactus creation, her eyes begin to brighten with awe again. "Perfuma, you are  _ so  _ talented. I've never seen anybody else do something like this. I mean, I know _ I _ could definitely never do something like this. I can only draw, and it's not even close to this level!" 

"It was supposed to be a dragon," Perfuma confesses. Her arms prickle with sweat. The rising sun seems suddenly too warm. She wishes she could wave her hand and hide the evidence, but Scorpia has seen it now. "The cactus did a beautiful job, exactly what it thought I wanted it to do, but… I haven't practiced with cactus enough."  _ And I'm losing my focus… and I'm a bad friend… and…  _ Heart stumbling, she tries to let those thoughts drift by too. Tries to  _ make  _ them drift by.  _ Oh no. _

"Well, whatever it was supposed to be, it's gorgeous now. That is one beautiful scorpion lady. You are something else." Scorpia is quiet for a second, looking at the sculpture. Her dark eyes narrow briefly, then widen. She glances back at Perfuma. "I came here to tell you! The princesses and Catra are all going for borriberry bowls down the road for lunch, and I thought you might like to come along although obviously this is much more important and I know you're probably in the zone, you know, like an artist... because you are an artist… and… well, never mind."

_ And she thought of me? _ On impulse, Perfuma reaches out to touch Scorpia's arm reassuringly. "Of course it's not more important!" 

Just like before, Scorpia's claw is smooth and slick, slightly warm from the sun. It's a little bit like touching the pad of a cactus between the thorns. Perfuma pulls her hand back, blushing. "Thanks for coming to get me. I'd love to go."

This is why Perfuma is a terrible friend: she can't stop  _ thinking  _ about it!

A week later Glimmer asks her to collaborate with Mermista on the flower arrangements for Micah's first-ever birthday party in decades. Perfuma is delighted to help and she tries, really she does, but when she gets in sync with her inner muse — 

"I don't know, Perfuma." Mermista wrinkles her nose, looking the massive floral centerpiece up and down. "They're, you know… very goth." 

The thing is, Mermista isn't  _ wrong _ . 

Perfuma's centerpiece towers over the two of them, as tall as at least four Mermistas in ultra-high heels stacked on top of each other. Probably taller. The base is a mass of roses, so deep in color that they're closer to a velvety violet — they were  _ such  _ a dream to work with — spilling over the sides of the wide ebony bowl Perfuma arranged them in, with richly layered black dahlias and hollyhocks above them spiraling toward a crown of night-dark calla lilies. Trailing raspberry vines and blackberry brambles add a touch of daintiness and balance the look, their fruit peeping out here and there like little jewels. 

"I let the flowers take the lead," Perfuma says. "I think they did a nice job. It's probably like the ocean is with you… that's what they wanted. I like it." She tries to moderate the defensive tone in her voice. __

_ Examine why you're feeling defensive,  _ she suggests gently to herself, and realizes she doesn't want to examine it. That's new. Hmm. 

"Well  _ yeah _ , and that's  _ fine _ , but I'm just saying it doesn't really scream Welcome Home Dad." Mermista walks slowly around the flowers, checks her fingernails, and sighs. "I keep telling you some nice seaweed would do the trick, or like an aqua theme. This looks like something I would give to Scorpia." 

"Well, it's not! It's for Micah. Obviously." Feeling the sudden need to do something with her hands, Perfuma tucks her hair behind her ears and intently studies the spiraling petal pattern of the dark red rose before her. She's glad Mermista is on the other side of the flower bowl right now. "Anyway, I think they're nice colors. That's why I picked them. On purpose."

"You said the flowers took the lead, which I would assume mean they picked themselves, but… whatever." Emerging from around the side of the basin, Mermista flips her hair from one shoulder to the other. "I mean, they're cute, obviously, because everything you make is gorgeous. I'm not saying Micah will hate them. But they're going to clash with my garlands."

Mermista's decorative garlands turn out to be seaweed-based, light and airy, studded with pink and golden shells and flashing pieces of green and aqua sea glass, with tiny blue blossoms scattered throughout for effect. They do clash with Perfuma's flowers. Like Mermista said, Micah doesn't seem to mind, but watching the Princesses and their guests mill about the great hall between the delicate blue-green garlands and her bold red-and-black arrangement makes Perfuma want to bury her head in her hands. She is a  _ terrible  _ friend. Why can't her plants be more cooperative, anyway? And why is she blaming it on the plants? 

"Wow!" A voice from behind makes Perfuma jump, then wish she had found somewhere less obvious to observe from. "This place looks great.  _ Love  _ the flowers." 

Scorpia is wearing a sleek black dress with a slit leg that despite (or perhaps because of) its simplicity only makes her look all the more statuesque. Though of course, from Perfuma's vantage point, she always looks at least a little statuesque. She's wearing some kind of shimmery golden eye makeup that makes it hard for Perfuma not to stare into her eyes. Glimmer's makeup skills are so good. 

To avoid Glimmer's hypnotic makeup skills, Perfuma intentionally stares at the little dimple next to Scorpia's mouth. That's cute. 

"Thank you." Perfuma makes herself smile, edging away as much as she can without being obvious and consciously not thinking about how that isn't what a good friend would do. "I tried. I don't know if my flowers go with Mermista's theme, exactly…" 

_ Criticizing your flowers? _ the voice inside her head that's become so much louder lately says, and Perfuma's hands twitch over her folded arms.

"No, I love it," Scorpia says instantly, because of course she does, that's Scorpia. "It all looks so free together. And the flowers, well, people never go for my style of decor. It's kind of nice to show up and feel like I'm dressed for the occasion. Like I fit in for once." She gives Perfuma a little smile and Perfuma's heart flutters almost painfully.

"You could never —"  _ not fit in _ , Perfuma finishes silently, but Scorpia is staring down at her, eyes wide and bright, and her throat catches. "I mean, you… have great style," she forces out lamely after a painful silence.  _ Oh Etheria, she'll think I was going to say she could never fit in! _ "You're — it's — very cute! Very unique. Very harmonious for you. I love your taste." 

Scorpia's eyebrows migrate the slightest bit up her forehead and Perfuma writhes internally. 

"Thank you!" Scorpia says, and pats her softly on the arm with one smooth claw. 

"--and then I said 'You have great style,' like an  _ idiot _ !" Perfuma breathes in deeply for four counts, holds her breath for four counts, and lets it out for four counts. "Sorry, that's negative self talk. That's not helpful. Sorry." 

The bright pink flower on the end of the woodland vine she's currently meditating together with perks up. 

"I know, I know." Perfuma strokes its petals softly with one finger. She's usually so good at taking inspiration from the Plumerian forest, just letting the world flow through and watching whatever's troubling her float slowly past like a leaf in the stream. Critical thoughts? Acknowledged. Fears? Accepted. Heart? Fully opened to the world and all its magic. 

It's just that this big, buff, scorpion-princess-shaped leaf is caught on a branch, or in a whirlpool, or maybe behind a big rock? Whatever it is, it doesn't want to float. And now she's doing it again!

Perfuma jumps to her feet, the mossy forest floor soft and cool beneath her bare feet. "I feel so silly!" she yelps. A bird squawks and flies out of a nearby tree and she instantly feels like a bad Princess of Plumeria, on top of her friendship and plant issues. 

"Sorry," she calls over her shoulder, and turns back to the sympathetic vine. "See? Obviously this obsessive thought pattern is creating a negative cycle! I just need to get over it. Or — accept it, and move on. And I know I should meditate, and handle this mindfully, but she's so…  _ Scorpia _ , and it's just — it's just — " Perfuma sighs. The flower droops. "I told you already. It's making me into a bad friend, to Scorpia and everyone else." 

The vine curls its leaves inquisitively. 

"My art's all going wrong because I can't focus," Perfuma says, counting each statement out on her fingers, "which isn't fair to any of  _ you _ , like my cactus friends from the Crimson Waste. They deserved a much better welcome. I don't think I'm being a good friend to any of the other Princesses, because I think about… well…" Her face gets hot and she ducks to hide under her hair, even though she knows the vine isn't really looking.  _ Deltoids. _ "And  _ she  _ must think I am so weird. After she saved me so many times and everything, I wanted to be a friend, not, not obsess over her shoulders and cute smile!" She buries her face in her hands. "Did you know she has a little dimple? I noticed at Micah's birthday party." 

The vine taps Perfuma on the head in a way she thinks could be sympathy, or laughter. She isn't as in tune with it right now as she should be. 

"I know I should tell her," Perfuma mumbles into her hands. "Or tell someone. That's openness, right?"

When the vine unfurls its leaves, it looks like a shrug. 

"I blamed it on my  _ plants _ ," Perfuma says miserably. Nothing about this is anything close to best meditation pracices, but she just can't let that go. "I blamed my friends, for me not being able to be a good friend, when I just want to help! Why can't I just do that? Why can't I stop thinking about this?" Her voice rises in pitch. "Why can't I be who Scorpia needs me to be?"

"Uh… Princess Perfuma?" 

Heat surging into her face, Perfuma spins around. 

A deer-antlered Plumerian, the new second drum in her sunset circle, stands at the edge of the clearing with a distinctly embarrassed look on their face. "Am I… interrupting something?" 

_ I'm late!  _

"No, nothing!" Perfuma jumps to her feet, suddenly aware of how low the sun is hanging in the sky and how long the blue shadows are around her. "Just working through some things! You caught me at a good stopping point!"

"That's good," they say. 

She's certain she sees doubt in their eyes.  _ That's mind reading, _ she reminds herself as gently as she can.  _ Not a productive habit.  _

"I actually wanted to see if you had time to critique my wrist technique before this evening?" they say, ears twitching back. "You're so good at that, and if you're sure now is a good time, I thought…" 

"Of course!" It might help to take Perfuma's mind off of this, anyway. Maybe that's all she needs, some vigorous drumming. 

"No, I don't care how it looks, that's your thing! Cute and flowery and… whatever lovey-dovey stuff you want to put in, you know, like  _ all of Plumeria _ . Argh, I am so bad at this!" Catra swipes at a leaf in frustration, her fur fluffing up. "You know Adora. Just do whatever you want, I know it'll be good. That's why I asked you." 

"I can do that," Perfuma says, wondering how best to delicately seek further clarification in a way that will promote mutual growth and understanding while supporting and nourishing her artistic vision. "But if you had anything else in mind, like a color, or a visual theme…"

"I don't even know what that is." Catra's ears twitch. "Just cute, with lots of flowers. That's not too hard, is it?"

Armed with those helpful commission details, Perfuma gets to work on Catra's surprise prom invitation for Adora. Sometimes you need to choose your battles. 

Sitting in lotus position in the middle of her garden under the hot midday sun, shrubs and vines reaching up toward the sky around her, Perfuma breathes deep.  _ Love. _ It's better not to think about it consciously — without a specific vision to start from, it's best to let her plants work with her organically.  _ Love. Prom. Being together. A dance. Dancing together.  _

Closing her eyes, Perfuma feels her pulse quicken, heart soaring as her flowers respond. An interested vine probes gently at the corners of her consciousness with a soft, liquid  _ blue  _ feeling. A flower further out across the garden feels that too and unfolds in response, darting toward the cool blue that the vine had asked about. Perfuma lets her hands move with them almost unconsciously as more plants join the sculpture, weaving together with her mind and with each other, bursting from her fingertips, the ground, the plenteous vines and shrubs in the garden around her. 

_ Yellow?  _ a new flower asks at the edge of the conversation, a bright sharpness among the cool colors Perfuma is sensing, and the other plants part to let the flower join in. They work together with no interference from her, just a gentle touch when they tangle together in argument — the plants twine together and grow apart in a dance with perfect rhythm and perfect safety until Perfuma feels like she's dancing herself, looking up into warm smiling brown eyes, a gentle claw at her back. 

The vigorous dance of the plants slows to a slow, polite waltz, then a bowing and a curtsying and a drawing apart. There's a brief rustle of leaves and then silence, spots of shade and sun dancing on Perfuma's eyelids. She opens her eyes. 

The flowers pulled her to her feet at some point in the process. Standing before the sculpture, Perfuma sways, winded. It's larger than her plants normally want to attempt, a soaring pavilion more than large enough for a group of friends to stand inside it together. Though it resembles a building in shape and concept it's a light construction, not quite grounded and almost whimsical, the fragrant walls of deep blue lilac punctuated by organic openings like windows for the sun and wind to pass through. Inside, blue-leaved vines spiral upward like columns, bright yellow bougainvillea petals poking out between them to dot them with color. Curtains of purpley-pink petunias and sedum cascade to the floor near the back of the sculpture, pulled back as though to frame a stage: the perfect place to hang "PROM?" from the ceiling in jasmine and white roses just like she planned. Looking at it, something tickles at the back of Perfuma's mind… she reaches for the odd feeling of familiarity, but can't quite grasp it.

With a whoosh of air Perfuma lets her breath go and stands back, proud of her flowers.  _ Thank you,  _ she tells them, closing her eyes momentarily again and hearing the leaves rustle in approval.  _ This is so beautiful, and you worked so hard. I don't know how you came up with it.  _

The plants' gratitude rushes back into Perfuma in a fizzy surge of exhilaration. Her legs tremble.  _ Thank you. _

"Is that the Enchanted Grotto?"

Perfuma nearly jumps out of her skin. "What are you doing here?" she yelps, and wishes she could swallow down the words the instant they're out of her mouth.  _ A terrible friend. _

Scorpia stands at the end of the path to the center of the garden, looking abashed and uncertain. Of course she would with someone snapping like that at her. "Oh…" She runs a claw through her hair. "Catra mentioned you were working on something out here, and I… sort of came out earlier to see, because you know I love your art, and the whole creative process is so fascinating, and so I was standing here watching you work — sorry, I should have asked." 

"No, that's okay," Perfuma says. Her head spins, probably from the post-creation rush of plant gratitude. Nobody has ever said her  _ creative process _ was  _ fascinating  _ before. Does Scorpia really think that? 

"In retrospect, I really should have asked," Scorpia says again ruefully. "I feel like I keep sneaking up on you like this. Maybe you were just too good at helping me get into character and it stuck. You know, 'I'm a spy'?"

Words halfway out, Perfuma chokes on a laugh and has to get herself in order.  _ In order?  _ she wonders as she stumbles over herself, amazed and disappointed. "You didn't have to ask!" she manages to blurt out. "There's not that much of a process — it's easy — it's all the plants, really — "

"But the vision comes from you, right? The details are perfect." Scorpia walks up to the front of the sculpture and stares at it. Her eyes are wide with an honest wonder that makes Perfuma want to melt into the ground. "The way you did the seashells embedded into the pillars, with these little yellow flowers, oh wow, I mean this is just amazing. I didn't even know flowers came in triangles."

"Thank you!" Perfuma says automatically. "They're golden bougainvillea." Her heart is turning somersaults.

"I'll have to keep an eye out in case someone tries to break up the party this time." Scorpia rests a claw very gently on the wall. The lilac petals tremble at her touch. "But it looks a little small for dancing." 

Perfuma wishes she could call the nearest rosebush to swallow her up. "Well…" She quirks a finger at one slightly wilted bluebell on the nearest column, encouraging it to perk up. "I still need to add the 'PROM?' part inside, and they'll be big letters, so I don't know if there would be room." 

"Oh, of course! Of course. I was just being silly, it looks very structurally sound. Come to think of it, it's probably not very nice to joke about your artwork falling down. I should not have said that. It just made me think — " Scorpia is quiet for a second. "Sorry."

Turning half away from the sculpture, Perfuma studies her sand garden on the other edge of the clearing, wishing that deep breathing were enough to drive away the heat that rises into her face at the memory. 

"So…" Scorpia sounds almost nervous, and Perfuma glances back at her out of the corner of her eye. "Who's the lucky person?" 

_ Oh!  _

"Nobody!" Perfuma says, certain the darkness of her flush is telling on her. "It's for Adora. Not from me! Catra asked me to help her with her promposal, and I thought it was such a sweet idea, and…" She remembers too late that that might be a sensitive subject, and bites her lip. "She suggested it, and I was happy to help out. She didn't give a lot of ideas, so I kind of ran with it." 

"You are such a good friend," Scorpia says, her eyes glowing again. "Adora's going to love it." 

"I hope so." Perfuma's heart sinks a little.  _ I'm not a good friend at all, I didn't even remember about Catra. _ "So what about you? Every eligible single in Bright Moon is all over Linda D'Ream and her cute spy persona, right?" 

Scorpia stares at her for a moment, then laughs a little. "Oh no, I was just going to tag along with all of you, as friends. It'll be my first  _ real  _ Princess Prom, and me and parties have a little bit of a complicated past relationship. Which I guess you know about, having seen, well." She waves a claw vaguely at the sculpture. "Anyway, if I wanted to ask someone, I wouldn't know how. I would never have thought of something like this. Catra's a great girlfriend." 

"It was really cute," Perfuma agrees. 

They stand, regarding the miniature grotto. 

The wind tickles Perfuma's back and plays in her hair. She realizes she is searching for something to say. The feeling is unsettling. She doesn't need to say anything, they can simply stand here in harmony in the silence, but — "I didn't have anyone in mind either!" she says to fill the silence. "It'll be nice to go as friends, with everyone." 

That isn't exactly true, but it's being a good friend, isn't it? That's what Scorpia feels, and it's better not to have her feel left out. It must be. Perfuma's heart reproaches her. 

"So anyway," Mermista says over the last few bites of brunch a week later, "Frosta's hosting and doesn't want a plus one so I guess that just leaves the two of you, huh?" 

The excitement of Princess Promposal season has started to die down, though Sea Hawk revitalized it briefly the night before with a mass boat burning, pyrotechnic display, and ballad with band accompaniment that Mermista is still annoyed about. Perfuma thought it was cute. 

"What do you mean?" Perfuma asks, popping another piece of sea melon into her mouth. 

"You two." Mermista gestures with a spoonful of seaweed soup between Perfuma and Scorpia, who's sitting on the opposite side of the table from her. 

Perfuma studies her luminescent bowl of sea melon. 

"I thought maybe  _ you  _ put so much work into Catra's thing you just forgot because you would totally do that — " Mermista points at Perfuma " — and Bow said he thought  _ you  _ were going to ask that cute former Horde captain — " back to Scorpia " — but she's going with Rogelio and whatshisface, that little blond guy, now, so like…" 

"Honestly I didn't even think about it," Scorpia says. "Not at all."

Perfuma's ears burn and she has to make an effort not to sink down in her chair. It's not as though she thought Scorpia would have some kind of secret plan to ask her when Scorpia already said as much to her alone, it's silly to feel disappointed, but… 

"To tell you the truth I'm not very good at that kind of thing." Scorpia's voice drops lower, which Perfuma can't help but find cute, since they're all here listening to her anyway. There's no one to hide from. "I thought I could just go with you all as friends. The whole promposal thing, asking somebody to go with me, it's the same thing as with singing! Me, up on a stage, staring out at the world to expose my true self to them all? To a special person like that?"

"Oh, I don't know, I think that would be pretty cute," Adora says from across the table where she's snuggled up with Catra. 

"Well I mean you don't have to be so dramatic about it now," Mermista says, "because there are obviously only two of you left. You don't have a plus one, and Perfuma doesn't have a plus one, and I  _ personally  _ don't want to see anyone burning any more boats down in my ocean to impress anyone else as some kind of gesture." She stares pointedly at Sea Hawk out of the corner of her eye. "So why don't you, like, just go together. As friends or whatever." 

Scorpia still lives at the palace in Bright Moon, so on prom night she and Perfuma meet in the Kingdom of Snows. As friends… or whatever. 

Perfuma has prepared her heart as best she can through chanting and guided meditations for a repeat of Linda D'ream's look and a night spent trying hard not to ogle her friend's objectively gorgeous shoulders, but she isn't expecting what Scorpia actually shows up in. The shoulders are there and as objectively gorgeous as ever, but instead of Linda's dress Scorpia drops her cape to reveal a sleeveless wine-colored dress with a sparkling skirt that sweeps the floor. Garnets glow at her throat and cascade from her ears, dark against her skin. 

Caught up in the gleam of the stone that rests just in the hollow of Scorpia's throat, Perfuma almost doesn't realize that Scorpia has offered a claw to her. She blinks and takes it, as friends. Somehow even here in the Kingdom of Snows Scorpia's claw emanates a gentle heat, reminding Perfuma of nothing as much as the smooth sun-warmed stone in the forest clearing where she sits to host her drum circles. 

"Perfuma…" Scorpia says when Perfuma takes her arm. Perfuma looks up into eyes that shine that garnets, and her heart does a funny upward backflip into her throat. "I appreciate this place  _ so  _ much more now that I'm not trying to infiltrate it."

"That makes sense," Perfuma says lightly, waving hello to Bow as she and Scorpia enter the castle. "If your aura is clouded, you aren't going to get the nicest vibes back, even from a place like this."

"You are so right." Scorpia sighs, half smiling as she shakes her head. "I am going to enjoy this. You have no idea, it's like I'm a whole different person." 

They greet Frosta, atop her newly constructed throne of ice bundled in her most festive furs. Their host nods regally to both of them. Perfuma gives her a tiny wave too, and is happy to see a hint of a smile break the ice. 

"She is impressive," Scorpia murmurs in her ear as they turn back to the crowd. Her breath stirs the loose strands of Perfuma's hair. A little shiver runs down Perfuma's neck. "I was… definitely not like that at that age." 

"Me neither." With a little pang, Perfuma looks at her inner child, a skinny little thing, alone in the world and so desperately confused. She lets herself embrace the visualization.  _ I see you. I'm here for you. _ She thinks of Frosta's regal nod. "Do you think Frosta likes borriberry bowls?"

"She seemed to enjoy them last time we went out! We — well,  _ you  _ should invite her back sometime. If you want. I've never seen a man do so much with a borriberry. That place was good." Scorpia's stomach growls in agreement. "Excuse me. I had a small dinner. Nerves. Can I get you something?" 

"I would love that," Perfuma says, wondering what Scorpia could have been nervous about. Though… thinking about it, she supposes it makes sense. Even if Scorpia knows on a surface level that everyone here is her friend now, and she's here as a Princess in her own right with no pretenses, your body and your subconscious always remember stressful situations. Meditation usually helps Perfuma with that, after a Horde raid. Massages are nice too. Maybe she should offer — and oh, no, her face is getting hot and she's thinking about shoulders again. Specifically, Scorpia's perfect muscular ones. Massages definitely need to be off the table. 

"Look what Entrapta brought!" 

Perfuma is certain that  _ Shoulder Massages  _ is as good as written on her face, but Scorpia doesn't seem to notice as she passes her a plate piled high with tiny food. 

"There are these macarons — these pink ones are jelly crab filled, those green ones I got for you are sea asparagus mousse — and she had these rice rolls, yours are the spring vegetable ones and I tried some of those and the ones with microscopic krill, and  _ look  _ at these little cakes!" Scorpia sighs happily. "I couldn't make anything like this with these claws. I'm lucky to have friends who can!"

"But your claws are really cute," Perfuma says before thinking. "The chitin is so shiny."

"Oh!" Scorpia says and stares down at her plate. She's quiet for a very long time, for her. "Thanks."

_ Oh, no, I made her more uncomfortable than she already was. _ Perfuma's skin prickles with embarrassment.  _ I made her feel different. _ Negative self talk is hard to avoid when you keep making the same mistakes. It seems like she can't do anything right when it comes to Scorpia. But she can keep trying! "Thank you for the food! And for noticing, you know, the plant based thing. That was sweet." 

"Hey, no problem!" Scorpia's smile comes back. Her eyes dart to Perfuma's then back down to her plate. "Thank Entrapta. She brought some of everything for everyone." 

They find two chairs next to each other along the wall and eat slowly. Mermista walks by to say hello. As the party livens up, Bow and Glimmer dance past with a wave, closely followed by Catra and Adora, whose eyes light up when she sees Perfuma. She mouths  _ Thank you!  _ over Catra's shoulder before they're swept away by the dance. 

"Do you think…" Scorpia says a few minutes later. "Or, do you want to…" 

"Hmm?" Perfuma has gotten wrapped up in the airy tune of the traditional Mystacorian moon dance, the gentle sway of the partners like vines weaving together as the palace lights reflect off ice crystal columns with all the vivid colors of woodland flowers. She glances over at Scorpia, whose eyes are locked on the dance with a strange expression. Her heart flips over. _ Am I making her feel left out? _

"Do you want to dance?" Perfuma jumps to her feet.

Scorpia blinks up at her, looking surprised but thankfully happy. "I would love to." 

The band's next number is a bright, fast-paced song that Perfuma knows just enough to recognize as a traditional Salinean partner dance. She and Scorpia stumble through it and only step on each other's feet a few times, both of them stealing glances over their shoulders at Mermista and Sea Hawk's dazzling display in the middle of the dance floor, which makes them stumble again every time but is totally worth it. By the time the song wraps up in a whirlwind of excited strings, Scorpia is grinning widely, a few strands of hair sticking to her forehead, and Perfuma is laughing and out of breath, feeling much less awkward as she rests her hand on Scorpia's claw and allows herself to be swept and dipped across the dance floor. 

"Thanks for going with it," Scorpia whispers between panting breaths as they wait, arm in arm, for the next song. "You have a lot of trust. I was scared I would drop you." 

Perfuma's laughter has just started to calm down but that starts her off again. "You would never drop me!" she says, and gives Scorpia's claw a hug without thinking about it. Scorpia is warm and steady and wow, her perfume smells really good, like wild woodland roses on a summer day. 

_ Mmm.  _ Perfuma almost nuzzles into Scorpia's shoulder to take a deeper breath before she catches herself and stands back, heart pounding. That would be  _ too  _ weird.

The next dance swells from a soft beginning into a gentle waltz. In spite of the familiarity of the steps and how slowly they go through them, Perfuma's heart won't stop beating like she's still stumbling through the steps of the Salinean dance. Scorpia's claw is snug around her waist, and her hand rests on Scorpia's bare shoulder, and she smells roses and sunshine. She doesn't know where to look. 

Perfuma knows that these feelings are making her a bad friend. Scorpia is a kind person who just wants friends — she said as much, when Perfuma talked to her about prom. She's been through so much, seen so much, changed so much, and Perfuma should be supportive, but looking at her, touching her, thinking about her, Perfuma wants something different. She wants more of her. From the cactus, to the flowers, to Catra's promposal, it's taken over her mind. Why couldn't she let it go? Why is she being so unfair to Scorpia? She stares over Scorpia's shoulder, trying  _ not  _ to think, her eyes beginning to prickle with tears. 

As the dance draws to a close, Perfuma's heart sinks. She pulls her hand away from Scorpia's shoulder a beat too early. 

"Perfuma?" Scorpia's voice sounds like it's coming from a long way away.

"I'm sorry," Perfuma says, and flees. 

She's sitting on a chilly marble bench in Frosta's winter garden under a bower of glowing white moonflowers with her knees drawn up close to her chest, shivering just a little, when Scorpia finds her. Because Scorpia followed her out. Of course she did. 

"Hey." Scorpia looks at her for just a second of hesitation, then sits down next to her on the other end of the bench. They don't touch. "Are you okay?"

Perfuma nods.

"You look cold," Scorpia says, starting to wriggle out of the cape she apparently took the time to put on before coming out here. 

"I'm fine," Perfuma says quickly. "Don't worry about it. Please." 

Scorpia gives her a dubious look. "Perfuma, I know it's supposed to be summer, but it's pretty cold here. I guess that could just be me — I'm cold-blooded on my Amma's side — but everyone always tells me I run warm and even I'm not too comfortable out here." She's quiet for a very long time. The wind blows over them both, making Perfuma's skin bumpy with the chill. "If you don't want my cape, and believe me, I completely get it if you don't, would you please come back inside?" 

She's not wrong about running warm. Perfuma can feel the warmth of Scorpia's body just sitting here next to her, not even touching. It makes her think of the heat lamps she builds every year for her seedlings during the winter months in Plumeria, the first baby leaves pushing out from under the soil like they're reaching for the warmth. She understands the impulse. 

"You don't have to do anything."  _ I'm sorry,  _ Perfuma wants to add.  _ I'm sorry for being this way around you, and not being a good friend, and making you follow me out here into the cold, and not telling you.  _ Her mind catches belatedly on something else Scorpia said. "Why wouldn't I want your cape?" 

Scorpia shifts on the bench uncomfortably. She looks down into Perfuma's eyes, then away, one claw playing pointlessly with the edge of her cape. Perfuma is struck by how gentle it is with the delicate fabric. She wishes — and quickly looks away. 

"I…" Scorpia sighs. "I don't know how to say it." She pauses for a long time. When the words come out, they come out in a rush. "Look, I can tell you're not comfortable around me after everything with me being a part of the Horde, and then the chip, and everything I did. I don't blame you. I know I haven't been around a lot of people and I'm not very good at all this Princess stuff or friendship or going to prom. I really was planning to just come to Princess Prom with everyone else, by myself, when it happened again, it wasn't my idea and I didn't ask Mermista to do it, but I just want you to know —" 

"I didn't think you asked Mermista to have me go with you," Perfuma says, surprised. She turns back, but Scorpia is still looking away. "I mean, it makes sense. We  _ were  _ the only two left. And… I don't mind going with you." Her cheeks warm up, and her arms unfold slowly from her knees. She rests her hands on the bench, cool stone pressing up against them. 

"That's good," Scorpia says, with a long breath out. "I know I keep interrupting you when you're doing your art and I know I make things awkward, at least that's what everyone always used to tell me, but I just think… well, I just think you're so amazing at everything you do, your art, and you try so hard to be a good friend. I wish I was a lot more like you. But if I've been getting in the way, you can tell me and I won't do it anymore. You don't have to worry about my feelings." 

_ That's what she was thinking?  _ But Perfuma's still reeling from what Scorpia said before that. She can barely process the rest of it. Her mind circles back, picking through words as she tries to make herself focus, feeling the sweet white flowers tremble and bend unconsciously toward her. 

"I'm not uncomfortable around you," Perfuma finally finds the words to say. Scorpia is still facing away from her. A cold wind rustles the flowers and ruffles Scorpia's white hair, making her dark garnet earrings twist and twinkle. Perfuma's throat feels tight and funny. "Did you think that?" 

"Well, obviously!" Scorpia's claw clenches and for a second it looks like she's going to jump right off the bench. "First there was everything with the Horde, and what they did in Plumeria, and even if I wasn't there it doesn't stop me feeling bad about it and being collectively responsible, and then like I said, when I was chipped, and that was  _ weird  _ — I could have hurt you, Perfuma! You're brave and strong, and you're such a great artist, and you always believed in me, even after all of that. I admire you so much and if I'm being completely honest I'd love to spend more time with you, maybe get some borriberry-krale smoothies in Bright Moon or something, if you wanted, if you even like smoothies, obviously, but I noticed how I kept showing up without asking and making you nervous, and I just wanted tonight to be nice if we were going to be here together, not like my last Princess Prom, and I… I am rambling. Sorry. Anyway, if you need space, just say the word." 

Perfuma stares. Her heart is beating fast, resting in her chest so lightly that she feels like it would fly right up her throat and out her mouth if she spoke right now. She swallows. 

The gust of wind dies down. Scorpia's shoulders rise and fall, and then Scorpia half turns, just enough to glance sideways down at Perfuma. Her big dark eyes are  _ nervous _ . 

"I don't need any space," Perfuma says, her voice choking up a little, even though she couldn't be further from tears. She swallows again. "I am so sorry that my actions made you feel that way." 

Scorpia turns the rest of the way to face her again on the bench, eyes widening in indignant surprise as her lips part, probably to protest and say Perfuma doesn't have anything to apologize for. Because of course Scorpia would say that. 

"You definitely don't make me uncomfortable," Perfuma breaks in before a sound can get out, with a small dizzy laugh. "And you haven't been making me nervous. Actually, there's something I should have told you, a long time ago, but I just… I thought I was being a bad friend, or it wasn't the right time, or how to say it. Me!" 

Perfuma's hands turn from the bench, touch and grip the soft flowing material of her skirt. She takes a deep breath and looks up into Scorpia's gorgeous, concerned eyes. "I like you, Scorpia. I have for a long time. As a friend, but more than that, too." 

Scorpia stares back at her, speechless. 

"And I do like borriberry-krale smoothies," Perfuma adds breathlessly. "I would love to go with you." 

"Wow." The glow of the flowers reflects in Scorpia's eyes in a hundred little pieces, darkness and light intermingling. "Perfuma… You are  _ so  _ pretty." 

The snag in the stream of her mind where the Scorpia-shaped leaf is tangled trembles and gives in. Her heart opens in a rush like the mountain streams in springtime. A tendril uncoils from the wild tangle of vines on the bower, reaching out to brush Scorpia's cheek. 

Perfuma feels the touch like a shock passing through her fingertips. The suddenness of it jolts her into action and she stretches up, up, heart pounding in her ears, up into the soft warmth of Scorpia's kiss and the clear bright smell of moonflowers. 


End file.
